The Joker
by AquariaFoxx
Summary: The Joker's point of view kind of another story of how the interoggation could have gone differently and after, but before he runs away


The Joker

For as long as I've had them, and for as long as I can remember my scars haven't ached. Pretending I haven't just noticed the horrible aching, I take another fist full of pain and agony with a smile. I look back up to see my least favorite man in the _entire_ world, James Gordon. There are a lot of men I want to kill, but Gordon would have to be first after this. I don't mind the mindless insults and words he's using to describe me, but rather it's the way he is that is bothering me.

I have to resist from laughing aloud, and hitting back. I want to so bad, but I know I would have to wait until the Batman arrived to use my energy. Not that I was planning to hit him back, but rather to resist going unconscious.

Now I know in my mind that Gordon is one of those kind of men that use you until you are of no more use him. I've tried to tell the Batman in my last encounter, which –soon very, very soon- Gordon was going to use him up. But the Batman had decided that I was a crazy clown that had killed his girlfriend and was tied up and left hanging from a building.

I don't understand why he hadn't decided to kill me, but I'm glad he didn't. I mean I don't want to die because of someone else, and if I _had_ to choose I would have him kill me… But honestly, I'm not finished with my hit list yet. I have about another hundred or _so_ to kill.

Gordon hits me again between my ribs. An uppercut.

I swear to _God_, if he hits me again…!

And he does, a right hook and then a left…

I'm not cuffed or anything and he did ask for it…

I sit up looking at him, my paint all smudged, and smiling, he comes for me and tries to hit again but I block his fist and left hook his head into the wall. He falls unconscious and slumps onto the ground. I stand up and brush myself off. I fix the table up right and set the chair in front of it.

I could be crazy- and honestly I couldn't care less- but I hate it when things are out of order. If not, I don't know why I'm straightening up the room when it'll get messed up again within a few minutes… if not smeared with more blood. I begin to giggle at the thought when I hear the thrumming of multiple footsteps…

I laugh in excitement that the Batman has arrived… I sit down in the interrogation chair and stare at the door in front of me. Finally the Batman comes in with a few others. I stare at him, thinking, _why so serious? _I smile. He growls from the back of his throat, low and almost threatening. I have to restrain from snickering.

The others give me venomous glares, but others I can tell are scared shitless. It's hilarious, again I have to breathe deeply trying not to chuckle. They carry out Gordon's limp body and shut the door unnecessarily loud. I turn my attention back to the Batman.

He grabs my shirt from over the table and throws me at the door he had come through. My back hits it and knocks the breath out of me. I try to get up but he's already there, lifting me by my neck. He throws me then into the bullet- proof glass, knocking my head against it and denting it. Blood flows from my head and I cackle hysterically.

I've never noticed how much it hurts when you don't laugh. Laughing makes everything better, some people don't like laughing however and they express it my begging for mercy; in which you kill them even slower trying to teach them a lesson before they die. It is a very valuable lesson, it is.

Just as I gather my thoughts, Batman is there before I notice him. He picks me up again. He had shoved the chair under the doorknob to prevent people from coming in. He stares at me and for a split second I stare into his eyes while still snorting. For an instant, he is so familiar as if I knew him from somewhere, but then he shakes me and his rasping, hoarse voice interrupts my thoughts.

"What did you do with it?!" He screams in my face.

"Do with what?" I smile, mischievously.

"You know what, you damn clown!" Batman yells at me as he hurdles me again into the glass.

"Oh, the bomb. Why would I tell you?" I say in between giggles.

"Don't mess with me clown!!!" He clearly is pissed off now.

I snigger, "Why not? It's so much fun!" I look up at him from the ground.

He stomps on me then says, "Because you have to make shit out of everything!" His voice is still raised but I can tell he's losing his energy with the argument.

I gaze at him. _He's never been this easy to break… _And for a moment I am concerned with his sudden lapse of anger and steam. I slowly begin to get up. He doesn't make a move to stop me. I wipe my mouth across the back of my hand, and eye him carefully. I start to notice what I had missed in the beginning when he came in. I mistook the sudden anger for what it was, how foolish of me. It was realization that I was correct.

In a way it was merely anger, but it was anger of resignation. For a while he wanted to believe I was wrong, but he's not dumb and he's beginning to notice the changes… Moment after moment that passes, he still doesn't move and neither do I. I stand there questioning him in my mind. Then I note that he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know whether to cry or to laugh or beat me up again but I can tell he is gathering himself.

The silence tumbles on making everything seem more awkward than needed, but I don't know what to say until he finally speaks.

"You were right…" There it was the resignation, the sudden anger, and the depressed mood of him. For once I didn't feel like laughing at him, I almost wanted to comfort him, take him under my wing, but I wasn't sure if it was quite the right time yet.

I don't speak, but rather I cock my head to one side pretending that I didn't know what he was talking about. He hadn't looked at me this whole time, and for the first time he looks up at me. His eyes try to convey a message. To me it says, _help me please, DIE, no wait, and was he actually right? _I cock my head to the other side slowly, understanding his message perfectly.

I feel strange now. Very, very strange feeling that is concerning me. Could it be that I, Joker, could be caring for the Batman? _Get a hold on yourself_, I think. I straighten up, but he doesn't notice. I flex my fingers. I didn't want to hit him but what else was I to do?

My hand forms into a fist and I throw it. It seems that I had hit him completely off guard. He fell to the ground in a slump, and for a precious moment I stared down at him. This was the way it has to be, me above him, not the other way around.

I search him carefully but briskly as the guards are pounding on the door.


End file.
